Golden Moon
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Arthur Kirkland joins a boarding school and meets Francis and Antonio, the three form an unbreakable and highly unlikely friendship. What's the mysterious background history of the school? What spirits haunt the corridors? (more info inside)


**Golden Moon**

**Synopsis: Arthur Kirkland joins a boarding school and meets Francis and Antonio, the three form an unbreakable and highly unlikely friendship. What's the mysterious background history of the school? What spirits haunt the corridors? **

**Characters: Arthur, Antonio, Francis, and possible others. **

**Pairings: SpUk, Fruk, and SpFr are all possible, and none may happen at all. You'll have to wait and see.**

**Genre: Romance/mystery **

**Rating: T for now**

**_Additional Notes:_ They begin at thirteen years of age for reasons that shall be revealed. No shota, sorry ladies. Please review! I love feedback, it inspires me to continue writing the story. Some characters are OF MY OWN. Any characters from Hetalia do NOT belong to me. The fictional school and its workers are mine, along with the students I create. The places used are real, but the events that occur there are fictional. I hope you enjoy! **

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Arthur lugged his suitcase up the cobbled steps. The sun beat down on his nape through tall trees. He paused at the grand oak doors and sighed, wiping his hair from his brow and clearing his throat. Rapping upon the door, he waited patiently. The fountain behind him trickled lazily, the water pouring from the maiden's vase quietly humming.

The door was finally opened by a comely woman. "Oh, 'ello, and you might be the new student. Come in, come in, the other boys only just arrived yesterday—having breakfast right now!" She stepped aside and fussed over him as a mother would. She pecked at his straw-blonde hair and brushed it from his eyes—emerald—and straightened his sleeves.

Overwhelmed, Arthur simply nodded. He hustled into the main hall, a circular room with a red carpet in the middle. It smelled of toast, scrambled eggs, and sausages. A door to the left stood wide open, wafting in that smell along with the sound of noisy children.

"Did you eat breakfast, deary?" The maid said. Arthur turned back to her and nodded. She smiled, showing off a wide gap in her front teeth, "Do introduce yourself, so I can figure out which room is yours." She ordered, riffling through a pile of papers.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland, thirteen years old, a first year." Arthur explained dreamily, absorbing the glamour of the castle. His valise still swung at his knees. The chandelier overhead gleamed in bright yellow light form the tall windows lining the top of the walls, like square gems on a necklace.

The maid looked up and tucked a lock of brown, bushy hair behind her ear. "I'm Maid Anya, I do various acts as well as being the only woman in this facility, help everyone keep a straight head, you know." She began leading Arthur up the stairs, "I hope you find it here—at Saint James's Academy for Boys—a good time! You have five years so make it worthwhile. I'm sure you know all this, but I'll reiterate. Sometimes spoken words sinks in much more! Ah, so you shall have fifteen classes this year, don't be alarmed, you'll have them spread out through the week, three per day! They shall be very long. You'll have your first class run for three hours, after breakfast, then you shall have an hour of rest and lunch, afterwards the second two classes and a study hall on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Otherwise you head to your dorms or the garden, or explore, whatever it may be, until dinner and afterwards we may show a film or you can head to the library, but you must be in bed by nine o'clock." She cast him a stern eye. Arthur nodded stiffly. "Your schedule is on your bedside. The other boys, one hundred in all, it is such a small school, will finish lunch in thirty minutes and head to the first class of the year. Exciting!"

She rambled on, advising him on this and that, telling him he is forbidden to enter the professor's side of the school unless during study hall hour to ask for help. He is also strictly forbidden of leaving the school grounds and visiting the Girls' Academy a mile down. The list went on and Arthur lost interest quickly. He touched the banisters lightly, traced the woven decorations, and admired the school's size and grandeur.

His room was number 24. It held two four-poster beds, one untouched and the other with mussed covers. A half-open suitcase lay spewing forth clothing besides a mountain of books. Most were in Spanish. A large mirror was at the corner and it led into a small room holding a single chamber pot and sink.

"If you need a bath, there's a bath house that is open every other night for several hours. There is a shower room for those who are more for being clean each night." Maid Anya explained and regarded Arthur set his valise on the bed. He clicked it open and toured the contents. It held most clothing.

"Dear, here are your school things." Maid Anya pointed to a boxy package at the bedside. Arthur smiled stiffly.

She asked whether or not he needed guidance to his first class.

Arthur picked up a small, tightly wrapped scroll sitting atop the package. His first period class was English and Literature. He nodded and unwrapped the books and notebooks, along with a rectangular case of pencils and pens. The crisp, pale blue papers fell away, open like a lotus.

"You're awful quiet." Maid Anya hummed conversationally.

Arthur shrugged.

He gathered a notebook and two pencils, along with an English textbook. Maid Anya waited for him to exit the door and pulled it shut, locked it, and handed him the key. "Don't lose it, boys love playing dirty pranks."

She trotted back downstairs with speed a woman of her age (fifty was it?) would be jealous of. Her long skirts skimmed the floor, a dusty grey color. The corridor to the class was thin, too thin for a hundred boys to move through comfortably. Arthur's class was first on the right and she smiled, pushing the door open. Circular, like a college lecture hall.

Arthur chose a seat near the front, sitting down.

"Ah, a poet I see." A voice broke through the silence. Arthur jumped and gazed around for the source.

A tall man, slightly hunched over so his bony shoulders poked out in his velvety suit, smiled at him. He had raven hair and a crooked nose, but amber eyes glowing softly beneath faint folds of skin. Why, Arthur gawked, he looks hardly older than Mum.

"Excuse me, sir?" Arthur asked quietly, sitting down.

"I saw you looking about the class room. Perhaps weaving thousands of words into a description of it," he said in a raspy voice grated by too many years' hardship.

Arthur shrugged, smiling faintly. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, sir." He stated at the inquiring look.

"I'm Professor South, pleasure to meet you." He nodded and came to his main desk. Behind it was a large chalkboard, saying a simple "Welcome".

Arthur opened his notebook and watched the rest of the students, hardly ten others, moved in. Beside him sat a girl.

At least, Arthur presumed the child was.

"Hello," the 'girl' said, with a shockingly deep boy's voice. He forced a hands forwards and Arthur shook it, "I'm Francis Bonnefoy," he was French.

What struck Arthur as feminine was the lengthy, waved, golden blonde hair framing a soft pale face. His eyes were bright and lively.

"Turn your attention here, boys, the lesson is starting." Professor South said, pulling the door shut. "I have no interesting in wasting times with silly 'get to know you' games. The other teachers shall do that I am very sure. I am Professor South, I was taught here through my years and am greatly saddened by the dwindling amount of students. At any rate, we will begin by a quick writing prompt. Please write me a short story about anything or anyone, real or not, you have one hour." He smiled and stood back.

The boys looked at each other in amusement. The ones who disliked English, and by the looks of them preferred mathematics, looked sourly onto the papers. Arthur, however, opened the notebook and pressed his pencil down. Words poured forth, knitting themselves into a great fantasy story, beginning with a young man finding a sprite within the trees of his backyard.

"Time's up!" Professor South declared as Arthur's main character began entering manhood in search of a magical stone. "Turn them in, and we will begin reviewing literary devices and grammar…"

The next two hours rolled by quickly. South had an ability to push excitement into something as deeply uninteresting as adverbs.

Class was dismissed before they knew it. Arthur politely smiled at Francis and asked if he would like to sit with him during lunch hour.

Francis nodded.

Sometime later, with a bag carrying the next two classes' materials (Algebra and Basic Sciences), they sat at a long table reserved for first years. Another table held the second and third years, and the last two for fourth and fifth years. The boys sloped in height and volume upwards. Cocky fourth years tried to impress the older boys. The second and third years babbled rumors about the nearby girl's school, which rippled slightly in Arthur's table.

Arthur sat silent, his bag between his knees, and plucked out rolls and sandwiches onto his plate. He scratched at his cheek, the red blemish passing under his fingers. Francis besides him asked why he wasn't at school the previous day.

"I wasn't here because I wasn't." Arthur retorted bitterly, "and who are you?"

"Well, I split my time between Paris and London. I came to this school because of language, which I just understand, you know?" Francis bit into a roll.

Arthur nodded. "I'm from York," he said, "Well, my mum is from York so we've lived there these past six years. I came here because of English, on a scholarship. I have three brothers and they get the money because they're older and have jobs and all." Arthur shrugged, "That's just how it is."

"I heard that thirty years ago, at this school," Francis's voice dropped, mushy food still in his mouth not swallowed, "there was a terrible love scandal and that's why Maid Anya is the only lady."

"That's a load of bull." Arthur scoffed and licked his lips, wiping up dripping sauce.

Francis huffed and plucked up an apple.

Arthur was munching contently on a dry biscuit when Francis offered to walk around the garden. Arthur didn't see why not so they did. Francis swung his arms while he walked and spoke in lilting crescendos.

Arthur took short strides with a straight back, examining the pink bulbs of flowers dotting the hedges. The forget-me-not blue sky held not a single cloud. Francis approached a tree and walked behind it, his hands cupped. He reemerged with a small, white dove in his hands. He gently ran his finger down its spine, causing it to coo contently. Arthur watched curiously, taking a step back when it fluttered away towards the sky.

"What was that?" Arthur asked.

"A dove."

"No, what did you do to it?"

Francis simply smiled and said: "we better get to class."

It wasn't till Arthur entered his room at eight thirty that he met his roommate. It was a brunette Spaniard pouring over a Spanish history text book. He glanced up at Arthur, gleaming eyes of intense good nature and overwhelming friendliness met Arthur. He grinned, "Oh! Hello, I'm Antonio!""

"Arthur," the other replied and sat down. He dressed in his night clothing and settled with a book. The lamp's orange ring stopped just short of Antonio's bed.

Antonio, meanwhile, rambled. He described his ethnicity, Madrid and varying years in Barcelona and Murcia. His love for history blossomed from his grandfather's tales. His English was broken and disjointed, accented heavily. He beamed crazily and bade Arthur goodnight when he clicked off his lamp.

The heavy darkness enveloped the school and Arthur quickly fell asleep.

His life was only just beginning.


End file.
